


Captain Jack x Reader

by thespian_trash



Series: Doctor Who Fics [2]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: BBC, Flirting, Oneshot, Other, Self-Insert, x Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 11:13:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13165746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespian_trash/pseuds/thespian_trash
Summary: You're sad and lonely and a little tipsy, but surely a tall, dark, handsome stranger could soothe your soul? Welcome to your typical "reader meets Captain Jack" fic. Don't expect smut, folks.





	Captain Jack x Reader

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I realize this is basically the same thing as my last oneshot, but apparenly I couldn't get it out of my head. Whatever.

Rubbish music from some fleetingly popular band blasts your eardrums as you sit awkwardly at the counter of your least favorite bar. You're not entirely sure why you came here again. You guess just because it's dirt cheap for a few beers. Even with your back turned, you know you're attracting a few admiring stares, but you don't let that bother you. You simply sit in silence while the world around you drowns in chaos, and let yourself get lost in your dull-tasting drink.

You barely notice time pass, but you start to get a headache from the pounding music and suffocating perfume. You down the rest of your drink, slap your payment on the counter, and stand to drag yourself home. Before you can take another step, a powerful hand finds its way to your shoulder and forces you to sit down on the uncomfortable stool again. You flash an indignant growl at the man who is blocking your exit, but as your eyes raise to his, you are astounded by his beauty. His sharp blue eyes are set in a lean and tanned face, and his smirk reveals dimples and playful lips perfect for kissing. He has a face you could never forget, but your favorite part about his appearance is his coat. He's wearing a vintage World War II greatcoat, complete with braces, and very well-taken care of. Its navy, almost black hue stands out next to the man's baby blue cotton shirt. You can quite visibly see his muscles underneath, and try not to get distracted imagining how great he would look with his shirt off.

Suddenly forgetting all about your plan to head home for the night, you change your grimace into a smile, trying to be as flirtatious as you can. "Well, if you're not going to let me leave, you might as well buy me a drink."

For the first time, you hear the stranger speak, and you adore the sound of his American accent.  _His voice is as beautiful as the rest of him,_  you think. "I couldn't call myself a gentleman if I didn't," the man agrees to buy your next drink.

"Captain Jack Harkness," the man introduces himself with an affirming handshake once your drinks arrive.

"A pleasure," you raise your glass to Captain Jack and take a sip. You almost gag on the cheap taste of the alcohol, but you don't want to offend the handsome man who bought your drink, so you swallow the liquid anyways.

Jack doesn't drink from his glass yet. Instead, he leans closer to you and asks "And who, may I ask, do I have the pleasure of spoiling this evening?"

You blush at the implications Jack dares to make, and in a hopefully seductive move you probably learned on one television show or another, you move your lips to whisper your name in Jack's ear.

He hears you, and he repeats your name in his gorgeous accent, taking time to roll over each letter, which sends shivers down your spine, even though you try your hardest not to show it.

As the two of you sip your awful drinks, your eyes move constantly over Captain Jack Harkness. You like what you see, and that makes you smile, which in turn issues a childish grin from the very man you are admiring.

Neither of you feel the need to disrupt the comfortable silence. There is no smalltalk important enough to interrupt the lustful stares exchanged between the two of you. Jack finishes his drink, and you've long-since given up on finishing yours, and then Jack is leaning towards you. You know you could kiss him here, but you don't want to. Not in a crappy bar surrounded by the scum of the Earth. Instead, you press a gentle finger to Jack's lips and are pleasantly surprised at how firm they are. You motion for him to follow you outside.

In the open space, you can feel the summery night air kiss your skin, and even though it isn't silent out here, it's nothing compared to the din of the bar that you swear never to voluntarily enter again. Jack follows moments after you exit, and trails behind you until you turn into a poorly lit alleyway. It's not the most romantic of scenes, but it's decent as far as inner-city alleyways go.

When you turn around, you see that Jack has his hands in his pockets and is making his way towards you, but when he's so close you think he can hear your heart beating out of your chest, he slides his warm hands from his pockets to your hips in perfect synchronization. Then, his hands cease to move with symmetry. One stays planted firmly on your hip, while the other tactfully glides its way to the small of your back, then up your spine, then cradles your neck, then works its way through your hair, pushing your lips into his, harder and harder, until you're sure the two of you couldn't be any more entwined, even though you know better. He does all of this slowly, with experience and grace. At first, you don't know what to do with your hands, but eventually you settle for placing them on the back of his head, your hands raking through his dark and luscious hair as you spend most of your energy on that kiss.

Jack's lips move with precision and dignity, and while a part of you is afraid you are being sloppy, you know it's impossible to mess up a kiss as fantastic as this. At the end of what seems like an eternity and no time at all (you think that's always how it goes), you and Jack are breathless. You look into his eyes, see him smiling suggestively at you, and know you're probably going to regret what you're about to do. You grasp the collars of his gorgeous coat, plant a quick but firm kiss on his lips, and lean in to whisper "Coming home with me?"

Jack doesn't need to respond. His eyes tell you that he wouldn't spend his night any other way, and one of his strong, calloused hands wraps itself between your fingers, and he leads the way, despite only you knowing where your flat is.

As the two of you make your way wordlessly through the city, you smile at yourself, then at the man holding your hand, and are eternally grateful you decided to begin your night in that sorry excuse of a bar.


End file.
